Of a Different Sort
by Lost-Remembrance
Summary: Pre-Series, AU. Dean doesn't go after Sam to help find their father. After finishing the Woman in White gig, bad luck strikes in the form of an old enemy to the Winchesters...


Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters.

Notes: This is Pre-Series and follows a different path of what would have happened if Dean didn't go and ask Sam to help him find their father.

**Of a Different Sort**

By: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)

Chapter One:

Two years. It had been a long two years of the silent treatment between the two brothers. There were so many times Dean wanted to flip his phone open and dial those familiar numbers to repair the broken bridge between hi and Sam. And, too many times, he gave up after the area code. Every time, it felt as if his chest would be ripped open by a ghoul or other dark creature. His heart would give a lurch at the remembrance and assault of memories. 'No,' he reasoned often, 'Sam isn't interested in fixing anything. He doesn't want this life—and you are a part of that life.'

It wasn't that Dean didn't want Sammy to achieve great things. Oh, no. Sam was a first-class geek. He aced too many subjects to count and loved books more than women it seemed. Dean knew his baby brother was destined for great things when he found out about that acceptance letter. He also felt as a parent would feel, he supposed at least—proud. He was so damn proud of Sammy, just like his father. Only, he didn't quite understand why Sam had to abandon them and pretend they—and his past—didn't exist. He didn't understand why their family had to be broken and splintered apart.

Either way, it didn't matter. Dad was missing and Dean put the phone down once more, fighting back the déjà vu. It had been two years of silence, and Dean promised himself he wouldn't be the first to break it—even if their father was missing on a hunting trip. Dean would find him by himself. He'd survived this long by himself anyway, right?

Throwing all of his clothes and gear together in an organized mess into his duffle, he finally zipped it closed. He gave one last look around the room, sweeping for any forgotten items. He spun on his heel, closing the door briskly behind him. He headed to the impala, closed the door, and started his baby up. Easing her into gear, he released the clutch, punched the gas, and tore from the parking lot of the sleazy motel. He didn't spare even a backwards glance as he headed out to Jericho, California, where his fathers last hunt had been…

He panted as he calmed down his breathing and relaxed the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on ignoring the burning sensation tearing through his chest.

The only remnants of what had occurred where the burn marks through Dean's shirt, a busted headlight on his car, and a big hole in the abandoned house from the impala, and a dark puddle of water by the stairs.

A woman in white.

Dean exhaled long and slow. Sure, he had had his fair share of women, but he wasn't a cheater. The women he got together with knew what they wanted. Few had asked for more than a memorable night. It wasn't that they didn't want more-he was rather open with them about it. He traveled a lot and it just wouldn't work out. He had learned his lesson with Cassie. So Candice tried to seduce him and work her magic over him. Not that it would have been very hard for her to seduce him, though, except for the fact that she was a dead chick—and, dude, he was just so not into that. Never mind the fact that he didn't exactly have a girlfriend or anybody to exactly cheat on. Candice hadn't been real happy about that, hence the aches in his chest.

Letting out another sigh, he ran his hand through his short, medium-cut hair. He allowed himself a small wince as his fingers ghosted over his chest like feathers.

"Well, that went well." He put the car into reverse and twisted his body around—biting back a wince—to watch her he was going. It was going to be a long day tomorrow fixing up his baby. He turned his car around and started tearing down the road, eager to find a motel and crash for a few hours…

His bones were aching and his muscles sore. Nothing a nice, warm shower couldn't cure. Dean threw his shirt off his body and tossed it over towards the other single bed (what could he say? It was habit) and walked stiffly over towards the bathroom. Stream was soon creeping out from under the closed door.

The lights by the bed flickered briefly and then stopped as if nothing was wrong. The door to the bathroom opened fifteen minutes later. His eyes flickered over to the tale where his dad's journal rested (courtesy of the police who had detained him and then left when a house nearby caught on fire due to some faulty wiring or some sort).

Running his now clean hand through his damp hair, his other hand was already busy fumbling with the button on his worn jeans. They clung to his body, sticking to his slightly wet skin. He tossed the used tower over to a nearby bed.

He began to stretch his muscles, but then froze. The hairs at the back of his neck rose. Quickly, he spun around to see the bed closest to the wall. Yellow-eyes gazed back at him, reminding him of old nightmares that would forever remain foggy, but present in his mind. Then, the mysterious stranger lifted his hand and flung Dean towards the wall. He collided sharply with a loud thump and a muted cry of surprise and slight pain. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, stealing his breath away and his head hit the drywall heavily, sending him tumbling off into darkness…

Sam awoke with a sharp gasp, eyes wide and frantic as they adjusted to the light remaining in the darkened room, little that there was. Sweat beaded on the youngest Winchester's forehead and coated his chest in a shiny sheen. Besides him, Jessica moaned in her sleep and turned, curling her body towards Sam as if she sensed his distress.

Giving his heart a few moments to calm down from the adrenaline-fueled rush, Sam eased himself back down onto the bed. Slowly, the dream was already drifting away, off into the dark recesses of his mind.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep once more and ignore the need to call on his brother. The images of Dean biting back screams of pain and yellow, teasing eyes mocking him from the darkness haunted his dreams…

TBC


End file.
